Warp Imbalance
by volley
Summary: Hoshi's subconscious runs amok and the Disaster Twins, just for a change, get into mishap.
1. Chapter 1

EntAllat once suggested someone should write a story to explain this bit of conversation that takes place during Vanishing Point:

REED: So he tells her it was merely a warp imbalance.  
TUCKER: That's a lie, Malcolm.  
REED: We all heard it, Commander. There's no use pretending.  
TUCKER: Come on, Travis.  
HOSHI: Anyone sitting here?  
TUCKER: Don't you think a Vulcan would see right through this one?  
TRAVIS: But that's what you said, though.

I thought I'd take up the challenge. One thing to keep in mind: that conversation was all in Hoshi's mind, while she was trapped in the buffer during that difficult transport... Warning: silliness ahead!

This is also my entry for Timetravel Month.

Grateful thanks to my betas, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.

§ 1 §

That transport had reeeally scrambled her, Hoshi mused as she waited her turn in the breakfast line.

Placing her cup in the drink dispenser she ordered, "Coffee, dark," and watched her morning drug pour into the vessel with a highly satisfying gurgling sound. Oh yes, she needed that. Reeeally scrambled her.

She placed the cup on her tray and turned.

Quite something, when she thought of it. Her subconscious, not content with having made her imagine the ship attacked by aliens and herself vanished into thin air, had worked overtime and…

Ah – there was the trio. Travis, Malcolm and Trip were sitting at a table together. She set her course towards them, smiling to herself.

"It's only_ half-an-hour_ of your time, Commander," Malcolm was saying.

"Precious time," Travis punctuated, with a chuckle.

"That's what you always say, Malcolm," Trip countered, sounding sceptical.

"Must I remind you that combat training is mandatory?" the Armoury Officer threatened. "I've already let you skip last week. Besides, you need the exercise."

"What I need is for you not to bug me."

Hoshi paused for a moment. Those three! – She mused, feeling the corners of her mouth pull upwards – If they didn't exist someone ought to invent them. Closing the gap to the table, she cleared her throat.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Unlike in her hallucination, blessedly this time three faces immediately turned to her.

"Please Ensign," Malcolm answered for everyone, gentlemanly getting up and pulling the fourth chair out for her.

"Thank you." Hoshi settled her tray on the table and sat down. She spread her napkin and cast a mischievous look around. "So, how are the old bones today?"

Three pairs of eyes stared back blankly.

_

* * *

__Armoury. Twenty-three-hundred hours._

"Very strange, it has similarities with various languages, Earth and non. I think it says something like… 'Cycle generator', whatever that means," Hoshi said. "It's the closest I can come up with."

She bit her lip, studying once again the writing on the base of the pyramidal object they had retrieved from space only an hour before. It had suddenly appeared on their path, and was now sitting on a work bench in a shielded corner of the Armoury.

"I'm not sure we ought to touch it," she added. "Do we even have the Captain's okay?" The last she knew, after having the device scanned for possible threats, Archer had suggested that given the late hour they let it be till the morning, so they could study it on a rested mind.

"Well, if we don't touch it we'll never know what it is," Trip countered, snaking around the most important question.

The fact tightened that all-too-familiar knot of unease in Hoshi's stomach, which still made its presence known, now and then. She may have developed space legs, but some things still unnerved her. Maybe it was also the fact they had gathered in the Armoury late at night like conspirators, summoned by a Trip Tucker who was in full 'got-to-know-what-it-is' mode.

"Might be dangerous, Commander. _Cycle_ could mean anything," a clipped voice warned.

Good thing there was Malcolm to balance things out; though Hoshi had to wonder if the man wasn't in this with their Chief Engineer. The two of them were known to join forces for stunts that got them into mischief. Nah. More likely Malcolm was here to make sure Trip didn't blow up the ship while fiddling around with his new toy. Reed hadn't looked pleased when Archer had ordered them to bring the strange object on board; and even less so when the Captain had decided to let it sit in his Armoury undisturbed till morning. Oh dear, that actually meant Malcolm would _want _to examine the thing.

Hoshi watched the Security Officer once again thoroughly scan the pyramid, not much bigger than one of those paper hats used at parties; indeed, its size was such that if the ship's scanners hadn't picked it up, they would have missed it, or run it over. It was made of metal, and a line of regularly spaced small holes dotted its circumference, more or less half way up it.

"Well, I can only confirm what I told the Captain an hour ago: no explosives, as far as I can tell," Malcolm declared after a moment. He held his chin pensively. "Its circuitry, though… it's nothing like we've seen before."

Trip took the scanner from his hand and studied it. "No kiddin'," he commented, shaking his head. "There seems to be no power runnin' through it," he noted. "Dead as a dodo."

"That's a relief, if you ask me." Malcolm straightened. "I think we can venture to investigate it."

He was beginning to sound excited as well, and Hoshi's rising hope to find an ally in him fell abruptly, splattering concern all over her heart. "Uhm, guys, no explosives and no power doesn't necessarily mean it's safe to look inside it," she warned.

Blue eyes lifted to her. Hoshi recognised the sparkle that lay within them – already past the point of no return "You may go to your well-deserved rest, Ensign," Trip said. "You've done your part and given us all the help you could. You don't need to stay."

Though his tone hadn't been patronising, Hoshi felt an injury to her pride. "It's okay, Sir," she heard herself reply, against her better judgement.

Trip studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed and lips pulled in a lop-sided smirk. "Alright," he finally agreed.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hoshi watched a blond head and a dark one almost knock into each other, as the two officers bent over the strange object again.

"What do you think it could be?" Malcolm asked in a smoky voice.

"A communication device?" Hoshi tried, already feeling a bit left on the side.

"Perhaps a warning buoy," Malcolm suggested, with a hint of concern. "We might not have a right to be in this region of space."

"That'd be a _defective _warning buoy." Trip raised his eyebrows. "We'd have known by now. Ah, for all we know, it's a stylish waste disposal unit."

Hoshi grimaced in disgust.

"Or a cinerary urn," Malcolm said, quick as ever to follow Trip's lead.

Trip shot him a look. "With circuitry?"

"If you press the right spot, a recording of the dear departed will play and his hologram will appear."

The two broke into chuckles. Hoshi rolled her eyes. Men. Maybe she _should_ go to sleep and leave them to their devices.

Finally, in slow motion, Trip reached for the object. "It's quite heavy," he groaned as he lifted it. "The dearly departed needed to go on a diet."

He began to turn it in his hands. Suddenly Malcolm became animated. "Hold it! Could that be a release mechanism of some sort?" He pointed at something with his finger.

Trip examined the spot. Hoshi also bent to have a closer look. Barely visible, because it was made of the same material and flush with the rest of the surface, was a small, innocent-looking press button.

"Hmm." Trip sought Malcolm's eyes. "Do I have the Armoury Officer's okay?"

Malcolm looked hesitant. Just as Hoshi's hope was rekindling, though, he shrugged. "Whether we do it now or tomorrow, I guess if we are to find out what this is we must start somewhere, and that looks like a good place. No explosives, no power… Let's do it."

Trip replaced the object on the workbench and rubbed his hands in anticipation; then bent down and pressed the spot. A soft whine; and beams of an intense green light shot out of the holes around the pyramid. The three of them had already taken an instinctive step back. Before they could recover from their surprise, the sound stopped and the lights disappeared. Malcolm immediately activated his scanner.

"Nothing. Dead again," he muttered.

"Sir?"

They turned to Müller, Malcolm's SIC, who'd been manning the shift in another part of the Armoury. The tall man had a question mark painted on his face.

"As you were, Bernhard," Malcolm told him. "Just doing a few tests."

"Aye, Sir," Müller replied, knowing better than to question his C.O.'s orders; and disappeared.

Hoshi bit her lip. Rank or no rank, she really felt like taking Malcolm and Trip by an ear like two naughty children and pulling them all the way to their quarters. She just hated the idea of looking the scared little girl; all the same, she took a couple of cautionary steps back before Trip reached for the button again.

"Ready?" the Engineer asked Malcolm who, this time, held the scanner right on top of the thing.

The whine this time was louder, making them wince; the green lights radiated out reaching the two officers, and they raised a hand to shield their eyes.

"Make it stop!" Hoshi complained, her sensitive ears beginning to ache.

Trip pushed the button again, but to no avail. "How?" he shouted over the noise.

"A phase pistol comes to mind."

That of course had been Malcolm, who added, "Or an airlock."

It was a very long minute before the device stopped – by itself. By then, Hoshi was bent double, eyes scrunched closed and hands over her ears. It was a moment before she dared move.

"Sirs?"

The barely audible question was, once again, Müller's. Straightening, Hoshi's eyes were drawn to the Ensign, and she watched him blink a couple of times.

"Bernhard, what part of 'as you were' wasn't clear to you?" a croaking voice complained.

It sounded like Malcolm's vocal chords had been dipped in glue and sprinkled with sand.

Hoshi turned to him. "Oh my God," she blurted out, bringing a hand to her mouth.

TBC

Looking forward to your comments.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to my readers and reviewers.

§2§

"You… You've…" Trip stuttered, squinting at Malcolm like an old man who had forgotten to put on his glasses.

That's as far as he went before his jaw got jammed in full-down position. In response, Malcolm flinched, and his hand flew to the small of his back. The two stared at each other speechlessly.

"Er…" Hoshi sputtered, not sure what to say. Without taking his eyes off the two officers, Müller had slowly drifted to her side, but was not giving her any vocal help here. Well, speaking was more in her area of expertise. But right now she was one dumbfounded linguist.

"He's…" Trip started again.

Turning to Hoshi, he stretched his neck towards her and narrowed his gaze, much as her grandmother used to do.

"I'm not like _that_, right?" he croaked out, waving a thumb in the direction of Malcolm.

Oh, of course! The two could see each other, but not themselves. Hoshi cringed.

"What do you…" Malcolm vainly tried to clear his hoarse voice. "What do you mean _I_ _am not like that -_ am _I _like that?" he demanded to know.

There was an uncharacteristic undercurrent of worry in the words. Not that Hoshi could blame him.

"I think we'd better wake Phlox," she managed.

"The Doctor is always awake," Bernhard commented in a barely audible breath. Suddenly rousing himself, he tore his eyes off the two officers and shifted them, green, wide and very disturbed, to Hoshi. "Definitely. I'll page---"

"Wait a moment, wait a moment," Trip stalled. "What's goin' on here?" He made to rake a hand through his hair and startled, a strangled cry escaping his lips, when he had to feel about for it.

Malcolm immediately aped him, relief clear on his face, when he found his usual crop, until Hoshi blurted out, "You look… _distinguished_, in white, Lieutenant."

That had been mean, and she quickly averted her gaze from Malcolm's blanching face. There really was no way to soften the blow, though. Taking a steadying breath, she informed them, matter-of-factly, "It appears the two of you have aged a few decades. At least now we know what kind of _cycles_ that device _generates_."

* * *

The initial panic seemed to have given way to a classic Trip-and-Malcolm disagreement. Arms crossed over her chest, Hoshi bit her lip. It had to be the shock, but she was feeling laughter bubble inside her. What was wrong with her? She slapped herself mentally. Surely there was nothing amusing in all this. But, heaven help her, there was. Watching the older versions of Trip and Malcolm argue had an element of fun.

"Of course you couldn't wait until morning," Malcolm was saying, in that pissed off accent where sharp consonants cut and chopped like fine blades. "_Had_ to stick your nose – and mine – in it right away."

His face was as wrinkled as a prune and he was leaning on one side, his hand still holding his back, but those eyes of his flashed with the same light that had often crossed them in… – Hoshi's budding smile fell – _youth_.

"You know, Loo-tenant, less _hair_ doesn't necessarily mean less _memory_," Trip countered hotly. He jabbed a crooked finger in Malcolm's direction, punctuating every concept. "I remember perfectly well _askin'_ for the Armoury Officer's _okay_, and since I'm pretty sure my brain hasn't turned into cottage cheese yet, that would be _you_."

If Malcolm was – at least on the outside – the shrivelled and white-haired copy of his younger self, Trip had undergone a more striking metamorphosis: he had a receding hairline and was obviously one of those men that with age get what Hoshi had always secretly thought of as the 'blackbird syndrome" – round belly and thin legs. Plus he was obviously in need of glasses.

"You dragged us here despite the Captain's orders," Malcolm went on complaining, "because you couldn't keep your bloody shirt on. Typical Tucker. No patience or restraint!"

"Today, tomorrow… what difference would it make? Besides, I don't remember you raisin' any objections."

"Ha! That just goes to prove that your memory _is_ wobbly. I said it could be dangerous." He frowned. "At least I think I did," he added as a pensive aside; but Trip did not hear that, too busy launching into his next invective.

"Now _that_ was a fine intuition!" The Engineer narrowed his myopic eyes. "What the hell's wrong with my sight?" he muttered.

"I don't _long_ for a _fight_," Malcolm immediately retorted. "I'm simply stating facts here."

Oh dear. If Trip needed glasses, apparently Malcolm needed a hearing aid. Must be all those explosions – Hoshi mused.

"Well, if you don't long for a fight then. stop. arguin'," Trip replied, seamlessly picking up where Malcolm's defective hearing had left.

Finally Müller stirred.

"Er… Commander, Lieutenant," the tall Ensign butted in hesitantly. Trip and Malcolm turned his way, both falling silent. For a beat only the background noise of the ship's engine could be heard. "I believe we really _should_ accompany you to Sickbay, Sirs," Bernhard awkwardly concluded.

Trip groaned. "Our favourite place."

Malcolm let go of his back and managed to achieve a few centimetres towards the straightening of his posture. "You will do nothing of the kind," he bristled. "If anyone will ever have him replaced, that will be me: he's still _my_ SIC. Besides, he's right."

Trip took in a frustrated breath, which stretched his uniform dangerously around the middle. "I said," he repeated, all but shouting, "that Sickbay is our fa-vou-rite place."

Malcolm looked back in puzzlement. "But it isn't."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Trip turned to Hoshi and Bernhard. "I give up."

Malcolm ignored him. He looked to be mulling something over.

"On second thought, he's _not_ right. I'm not going to Sickbay," he said stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going _anywhere_, like this." His eyes suddenly grew wide and horrified. "Actually, I think I'll go to… Excuse me one moment."

And under three pairs of puzzled eyes, he rushed – as an old man can rush – in the direction of the toilet.

For all his previous frustration, Trip grimaced at the sight. "The Capt'n will kill me!" he bemoaned after a moment, rubbing two fingers over his eyes. "Provided of course, that a stroke doesn't get there before him."

Hoshi smirked. "Well, Commander, with all due respect you'd deserve it – the dressing down," she hurried to specify. "The Captain _did_ say to leave it till morning…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know… What the hell are we gonna do, now?" Trip's hand started towards his hair again but stopped short, and dropped. "D'ya think Phlox's got a creature for this kinda problem?"

His accent had got thicker.

"Humbug."

The figure shuffling back dejectedly was indeed Dickensian heart-breaking.

"Nasty thing, old age," Malcolm told Trip, grey eyes showing for once a whole array of emotions.

That was enough to re-set the two of them to their old chumminess again.

Trip's shoulders slumped. "This is even worse than when I got pregnant..."

"Yes, at least that time only _you_ did," Malcolm agreed.

Trip shot his friend and colleague an apologetic glance. "Look, I'm sorry…"

"Truth be told," Malcolm admitted, "I can't quite remember if I did warn you or not."

"So… Shall we go?" Hoshi butted in, taking advantage of the newly-restored harmony.

"Where?" Malcolm wondered, looking a bit lost.

"To Sickbay."

"Oh. Right." Malcolm turned to his SIC with a sigh. "Guard the fort, Berthold."

"Bernhard," Müller provided, still looking shocked. "Bernhard Müller."

"Of course," was the touchy reply. "We're off to Sickbay. And I do still remember how to get there."

And, taking the lead, Malcolm guided Trip and Hoshi out of the Armoury.

TBC

Reviews are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

A special thank you to my reviewers.

§ 3 §

"Enemy at three o'clock," Malcolm said in an urgent whisper which, due to his deafness, came out rather too loud.

Distant voices… Someone, coming down one of the corridors that merged at the junction they were standing at. Hoshi was surprised the Lieutenant had actually made them out; they were rather faint. If his ears had aged, his sixth sense was, apparently, still sharp. Malcolm looked frantically around and herded them towards a storage-room. Triggering its door open, he pushed her and Trip unceremoniously inside.

It was a small place, and they were as tight as canned sardines. Hoshi found herself in an uncomfortable squeeze between the two officers. "Sirs," she complained, elbowing for more room.

"Ouch."

With various grunts and groans, Malcolm shifted around, trying to get out of her way.

"Bloody arthritis; or whatever it is," he ranted as he endeavoured to flatten himself against the closed door behind him.

Hoshi's claustrophobia never missed a chance to make its presence known, and this was fast developing into a tricky situation, in that respect. The Commander's pot-belly was taking way too much room. Hoshi pushed against it unabashedly and ended up ramming Malcolm behind her, who let out a choked 'umph' followed by a muttered, "Wouldn't mind coming out of this intact – just in case I manage to regain my right age".

Trip on the other hand, true to his laid-back nature, hardly noticed her shoving.

"With all the times ya've ended up in Sickbay, no wonder you're an ol' man full of aches and pains," the Engineer chuckled.

"Don't forget that I got most of my injuries trying to get _you_ out of trouble, Commander."

"Ah – I don't remember that."

"Of course not. As I predicted, all those ridiculous horror movies fried your neurons."

Did old men get brittle bones like old women? Taking a steadying breath, Hoshi controlled an impulse to thrash about. In doubt, she'd better be careful.

"There are no _enemies_ on the ship," she butted in, over her shoulder to Malcolm. "Do we really have to hide away like thieves?"

"We don't know what we're really facing here, Ensign," Malcolm croaked back. "There could be a larger picture at play, which we cannot perceive – _yet_. Why was that device right on Enterprise's path, for example? Have you thought of that? It might not be by chance."

"Lost his hearin' but hasn't lost his paranoia, has he," Trip muttered.

"I heard you."

"Yeah, well, that's a relief. We're so close I could count the specks of suspicion in your eyes."

"That's surprising, considering it appears you wouldn't see a rhinoceros charging you."

Hoshi squeezed her gaze shut. "Right. Can we get out, now, Lieutenant?" she grunted, making sure Malcolm could hear in her voice what he could not see on her face. On the verge of panic, all she could do to refrain from screaming was funnelling her anxiety into anger. Fortunately, Malcolm got the gist of it. He triggered the door open and stuck his nose out.

"Coast is clear," he whispered.

With the force of despair, Hoshi pushed him out, and they both burst into the corridor, Hoshi gulping for air, Malcolm taking a couple of stumbling steps. Trip followed at his naturally relaxed pace.

Thank heavens this was a late hour and they weren't likely to meet too many people. Hoshi didn't fancy a repeat of the last few minutes. But apparently Trip was right: Malcolm's paranoia had not faded with age.

With a hand on Trip's chest, the Lieutenant stopped his friend from moving. "We'll take the access tube," he said firmly. "Much safer."

Trip looked at him deadpan. "Over my dead body."

Malcolm's eyes shifted from his friend's gaze to his belly. "I'd need climbing gear. For heaven's sake, Trip, it's only one deck!" he hastened to add.

"One too many, for this old man."

"Look, even assuming the ship's safe, do you really fancy risking meeting T'Pol, or – God forbid – Captain Archer walking his dog, _like this_?"

Trip let out a defeated sigh which Hoshi didn't like one bit. There was no way she could face an access tube, right after the storage room. Placing herself between the two, directly in Malcolm's line of sight, she said resolutely, "I for one have no reason to be stealthy, Sir. Besides, you know me: tight spaces and I don't get along." In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, "I think I'll let you do this on your own."

"Dishonour?" Malcolm frowned. "There's no dishonour in being claustrophobic, Ensign." He waved her off. "Fine. We'll see you at the other end. Keep an eye out."

Ignoring Trip's desperate look, Hoshi gave the two Officers a confident smile and hurried off.

A couple of minutes later she was leaning with her back against the bulkhead and her arms crossed over her chest, one deck up, waiting for the Disaster Twins to emerge, when Mayweather rounded the corner. Great. Just the man to put in the picture – if you wanted the entire ship to know your business. Hoshi eyed the access tube hatch on the floor: it was still undisturbed, but how long could it take to climb one deck, even with shaky muscles?

Talking of muscles. Hoshi let herself be distracted by a nice pair of biceps: Travis was in jeans and a white T-shirt that put his own sculpted body on display.

"Hoshi," the man greeted.

It never took long for Travis Mayweather to sniff out dodgy stuff, and it was clear the wheels in his brain were already spinning wildly, as he tried to come up with a possible reason for Hoshi to be idling late at night in the corridor out of Sickbay.

"Everything okay?" he asked innocently, while his eyes belied the disinterest in his voice.

"Oh – yeah." Hoshi pushed off the bulkhead. "Just…" She bit the inside of her cheek. "Thinking… of…" Damn it. "Denobulan conjugations. And what are _you_ doing here at this time?" she retorted. Better divert the conversation to _him_.

Travis blinked, glanced at the Sickbay doors; then back at her. "I've got a…" He trailed. "You mean you're here to see Phlox?"

It was like table tennis, hitting back questions without answers. Hoshi gave him her sweetest smile. "You go ahead," she said encouragingly, as if he'd been hiding some embarrassing truth. But the man didn't move and she could tell she wasn't going to have such an easy time getting rid of him.

She was wondering if Malcolm's 'keep an eye out' hadn't referred to this kind of problem, rather than to her own safety in view of a possible 'larger picture', when her eye caught the access tube hatch lifting slightly off the floor.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure Phlox will be able to help you," Hoshi instinctively screeched, trying to herd Travis out of the way.

"I do hope so," the wrong voice replied. It was British and held a measure of pain.

The hatch was pushed all the way up and deposited on the side. The top of a white head appeared. Grunts floated out.

"Bloody hell, my knees are killing me."

"Never mind your knees," a wheezing, out-of-breath and disembodied voice complained. "My lungs are collapsin'."

Hoshi watched Travis turn a shade paler. At least Sickbay was close.

"What the…" the Helmsman breathed out, taking in the hoary man emerging from the depths. "_Malcolm_?"

The man in question, who was still climbing out, twisted abruptly to the unexpected baritone voice and lost his footing, dropping a couple of rungs. Multifarious curses of different make and various pained sounds later, he managed to regain the lost ground, and re-emerged.

Travis seemed to have seen one of the ghosts of his famous stories. "Holy mackerel," he burst out, "what _the hell_ happened to you?"

True to his old self, Malcolm faced his 'enemy' head-on.

"I fell in the flour. Don't be daft, Ensign," he barked. "What does it look like?" He stretched out a hand. "Stop gawking and give me hand here; white hair and a few wrinkles aren't the worst part of old age."

"Old age? A _few_ wrinkles?" Travis blurted out. "You're more wrinkled than a mummy." He grabbed Malcolm's hand.

"And how many mummies do you kn--- Ow, easy!"

While Malcolm, inch by inch, tried to regain an upright position, Trip popped up.

"Hi, Trav," he wheezed. He stretched out his hand too.

For one stunned moment Travis didn't react.

The hand waved impatiently. "D'you mind?"

"I can't be-lieve this," Travis exclaimed, as he helped the Engineer.

"You don't say." Trip stumbled to the wall where he leaned, panting, with a straight arm against it, while his blue myopic eyes sent a not so silent message to grey ones.

"No more climbing," Malcolm agreed with a grimace.

Wiping a hand over his sweaty brow, Trip flashed their Helmsman a rather yellow-toothed smile. "Little incident with that device we brought on board," he explained, self-consciously. White eyebrows lifted. "Hope we can count on your discretion."

"Or else," Malcolm added, for good measure.

Hoshi stirred. "Now that you've made the introductions, so to speak, maybe we could all…" And she waved an eloquent thumb in the direction of Sickbay.

* * *

For the past minute or so Phlox had been letting out unreadable little squeals while gazing into his microscope. Trip and Malcolm kept flashing him wary glances from their positions, each leaning against a bio-bed facing each other.

The two had been subjected to blood-samples and scanning, and were beginning to look the picture of dejection. A thought crossed Hoshi's mind: maybe they were also beginning to be just plain _tired_; their new bodies wouldn't have the stamina of the old ones. At the foot of the beds, Travis still seemed unable to believe his eyes.

In an effort to distract herself, Hoshi walked to the cages that held the Doctor's rather vocal menagerie, but not even the latest addition was able to help ease the worry that was slowly taking hold of her, that they would not be able to return Trip and Malcolm to their old selves. Or even not soon enough. She was beginning to imagine the two walking into the situation room the next morning: the shock Captain Archer would get would probably be enough to divert his breakfast.

Phlox, on the other hand, had not lost his outward buoyancy in the face of disaster. Presently, he approached his patients with the characteristic bounce in his step.

"Mister Reed," he said, not quite with the tone one would think apt to the circumstances or his next words, "Your skeletal apparatus is in dreadful shape." Bringing a hand to his chin, he studied the padd he was holding. "The funny thing is that your leg injury, the one caused by that Romulan mine, didn't heal as perfectly as I thought it had. It appears that machine wasn't miraculous after all."

"Ha, I knew it!" Malcolm let out victoriously. But his excitement was as short-lived as a piece of cheese within Porthos's grasp. "Not that I find anything funny about it," he grunted.

"I'd like to take a more thorough scan of you," Phlox said. "Please come to the imaging chamber."

"Doctor, I don't care what ailments do or don't afflict my bones," Malcolm protested. "We are here to…" He cast a frowning glance at Trip. "What the hell did we come here for? I thought we were doing something important in the Armoury."

"Isn't it obvious?" Trip's eyes lifted to the ceiling; then rolled to Phlox. "Can't you do _anythin'_ to fix this agin' thing, Doc?"

"Ah, right, the bloody aging," Malcolm echoed. "Surely there must be _some_ freak creature in those cages of yours which will do the trick? Something like – what was it called now – that gelatinous thing you used to…" Once again his eyebrows met in the middle. "What did he use that for, can you remember?"

"Yeah, I just happen to," Trip droned, clearly not enjoying being reminded of the time Phlox had cloned him to save his life. "Doc?" he beseeched.

Phlox cleared his throat, jerking his chin down and back. "I may have a few unorthodox aces up my sleeve, but I'm no magician, Mister Tucker. Maybe Crewman Daniels would serve you better." With a pensive sigh, he added, "On the other hand I do hold a degree in geriatrics…" He shrugged. "We'll start by determining the extent of your cellular degeneration, and then… Well, we'll work from there."

Hoshi and Travis exchanged a look; that didn't sound very hopeful.

"Mister Reed?" the Denobulan prompted.

"_What_?"

"Imaging chamber." Phlox waved, trying to herd his patient in the right direction. "I really didn't think you could get any more difficult than you already were, Lieutenant, but apparently I was wrong."

"I haven't understood a thing of what you've mumbled, Doctor, except that you're wrong." Riveted on the spot, Malcolm looked back rebelliously. "Now, I don't know _what_ you're wrong about, but I can't say I find it very reassuring."

Phlox raised an arm – index finger pointing – and his voice. "Imaging chamber, Mister Reed. And then we'll check your hearing."

"I don't wear any ear ring. What have you taken me for, a bloody pirate?"

Phlox's arm was still raised and pointing; reluctantly, Malcolm pushed off the biobed and dragged himself to the sliding bed, which he painstakingly pulled himself onto. With a groan, he lay down. Phlox pushed a button, and the bed with its grumpy host disappeared.

"As for you, Mister Tucker…" The Denobulan turned to Trip. His alien-blue eyes ran him up and down and he shook his head. "I'm afraid doctor-patient confidentiality doesn't allow me to discuss your condition in front of other people, but the list of things that need fixing is rather long. And you really should consider a diet."

"Come on, Doc, I'm not plannin' to _stay_ like this."

"I hope for you that you won't have to," Phlox commented bleakly.

"Ya mean no more pecan pie?"

"Doctor," Malcolm screamed from inside the imaging chamber, "how much longer?"

Phlox sighed. "You've just gone in, Lieutenant. It will be a few more minutes."

"I can't stay a few more minutes," the muffled voice came back.

"You will have to."

"I'm warning you."

Phlox's brow furrowed uncomprehendingly.

"Ah – Doc," Trip butted in, "Aside from arthritis, I think with old age Mal's acquired… a weak hydraulic system."

Travis blinked. "Oh, man," he muttered, mouth curving up. "My mom always said old people get to be like kids again, but I never---"

"Thank you, Mister Mayweather."

Hoshi couldn't remember many times when Phlox had sounded frustrated; but this was one of them. At the touch of a button, he made his patient roll out again.

With grunts and groans Malcolm started pushing up even as the bed was still sliding out. "Dammit," he croaked out, opening and closing his right hand as he reached a sitting position, "as if it weren't enough, my arm has fallen asleep."

"With the condition your vertebrae are in, a pinched nerve is the least you can expect," Phlox told him irritably.

But Hoshi doubted if the man had heard him, for all his focus seemed to be on charting the straightest course to the loo.

TBC

Looking forward to any comments!


	4. Chapter 4

Special thanks to Kathy Rose and Begoogled, for their support!

§ 4 §

"Now!" Malcolm whispered urgently, grabbing Trip by a sleeve and pulling him towards the door.

"No, wait, Mal… Where're we goin'?" the Engineer asked as he stumbled along.

"_Away_ from _here_," was the unrevealing yet unambiguous reply.

Hoshi glanced at Phlox who had once again retreated to his desk and become absorbed in his microscope, and seemed unaware of what was going on; then back at the two fugitives. "Sirs..." she called, to no avail.

Travis shook his head and slid off the biobed on which he'd been sitting. "I'm not sure we still owe them obedience, you know? Technically, they ought to be retired." As his eyes followed Trip and Malcolm, who were just then crossing the threshold, he seemed suddenly struck by a thought. "If their minds aren't so sharp any more, they might even be a danger to the ship! I'm calling Security."

"Wait!" Hoshi grabbed him before he could cross to a comm. link. "Not yet." Casting another look at Phlox, she called out in a sing-song, "Doc, your patients are on the move…"

Phlox spared a moment to shoot a resigned glance in the direction of the door, which was closing behind the two. "Keep an eye on them, Ensign," he tersely instructed, before returning to his job. "I'll page you if I find anything useful."

Being an exo-linguist had its advantages: Klingon couldn't be beaten when it came to venting frustration, and you could curse freely without fear of being considered ill-mannered. Damn, but geriatric babysitting wasn't what Hoshi had signed up to do. It certainly wasn't what she wanted to do on any normal day past midnight. Thoughts of her bed sent unmistakable signals to her tired limbs. Ah, to be curled up under her comforter, in the arms of Morpheus! But these were Trip and Malcolm, and she couldn't abandon them like that. She had to keep them out of trouble.

One thing she did nothave to worry about was keep _up_ with two old men.

"Listen," Travis muttered to her, as they followed from a distance the two stumbling figures to whatever destination Malcolm had in mind, "You don't want to call Security? Okay, I can see that. But I think we ought to wake the Captain up. The man's gonna have a stroke if the two of them just walk on the Bridge like that tomorrow morning."

Hoshi bit her lip, debating. "Let's just give Phlox a chance, okay?" she muttered back eventually. Shouting, "Wait up!" she picked up her pace to catch up with Trip and Malcolm, who were at the turbo lift; and with a last sprint, stopped the door from closing.

"So… Where are we going?" Travis asked, when they were all inside.

"Yeah," Trip echoed, squinting to put things into focus. "Where the hell are we goin'?"

Malcolm's narrowed his own gaze, albeit in thought. "The Doctor may well be wrong in many ways, but he did say one thing that sounds quite right: this is more in Daniels's league than in a physician's."

"And how on earth d'you suppose to find Daniels?" Trip screeched. "You gonna call out of a porthole?"

"Crawl out of a porthole," Malcolm scoffed. "Good gracious, and then _I _am the one gone senile! No, I have something else in mind."

Trip turned to Hoshi and Travis. "Pl-ease save me."

"I'll be trying my best, Commander," Malcolm replied.

The lift stopped on B deck.

"Follow me."

Malcolm cast a cautious look around before taking the lead again. Soon they were standing in front of a cabin – and not just _any_ cabin…

"I knew something suspicious was going on," Malcolm spat out in a dark voice. "This cabin ought to be sealed off. Guess what: Daniels may well be _behind_ all this!"

"Sealed off?" Travis wondered, beating Hoshi to it. She too was failing to make a connection, but at least she wasn't the only one.

Trip blinked. "What are you talkin' about?" He stretched his neck till his nose was inches from the cabin's number. "This isn't..."

But Malcolm had already raised his hand and pressed his thumb on the ID recognition padd. His fingerprints, unfortunately, hadn't aged: obediently, the door swished open for the Head of Security.

Hoshi felt Travis's hand on her shoulder, nails digging in. "Oh, man, I'm not going in there," he said in an urgent whisper.

"You mean you actually intend to _miss_ this?" Hoshi whispered back, mouth curving up.

"Wait!" Trip caught Malcolm by an arm. "These aren't Daniels's quarters, they're T'Pol's!"

"T'Pol's! Next you're going to tell me it's the den of a T'Rex! Are you implying I can't remember where Daniels's quarters are? For heaven's sake, I sealed them off myself." Malcolm turned on Trip, making an effort to straighten his crooked posture, which had him at an even greater disadvantage than usual. "You know, I'm growing a bit tired of being treated like a senile, disoriented id---"

"Lieutenant?"

The quarter's rightful occupant, not surprisingly, had been woken up by the riot just outside her door and was now standing, barefoot and in silk pyjamas, in front of them, a slither of belly in full view. She blinked once, as if she weren't sure this wasn't a dream. But then again, Vulcans don't dream, so if that thought had actually peeked into her mind it had to have been repelled pretty quickly. Her eyebrows lifted; and then again a notch higher when her gaze shifted to the rotund and balding man beside Reed.

"Hello, Subcommander," Trip stuttered, blushing. "Have we – uhm – woken ya up?"

"What are you doing in Daniels's quarters, Subcommander?" Malcolm enquired suspiciously, unmoved from his conviction.

T'Pol blinked one more time before repeating, albeit with more poise, what Trip had just said.

"These aren't Daniels' quarters, Lieutenant."

In the awkward silence that followed – which no one seemed to want to break – T'Pol studied the two officers. Her big brown eyes shifted from Malcolm to Trip a couple of times.

"How have you become superannuated?" she finally asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Ah, it's simple," Trip croaked out. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he let the tips of his fingers rest there. "You see, Malcolm here thought that device in his Armoury might be more dangerous than anticipated and so we…"

As if realising he was treading dangerous ground, he shot Reed a nervous glance, but the man seemed still too busy figuring out the wrong quarters' problem to pay any attention to what Trip was saying.

"Well, we were tinkerin' with the thing," he resumed, "when…" Suddenly his hand flew off his forehead, as if bringing forth from his brain a brilliant thought. "It was that warp imbalance. There was a jolt – nothing too bad, mind you – but me being the Chief Engineer I felt it, of course, and it made me inadvertently close my grip around the device and press a button I had not seen, and that's how…" He ended that improbable explanation with a shrug.

"Fascinating," T'Pol commented, deadpan.

"Not quite," Trip disagreed, likewise.

"A warp imbalance?" Malcolm wondered. "I hadn't realised."

"Is that how it happened?" Travis whispered to Hoshi, who whispered back, "Sure thing."

T'Pol crossed her hands loosely over her chest, baring yet more skin around her midriff. "Have you informed the Captain?"

It was Hoshi who replied, for she could see that the three men – no matter how many years or dioptres they had or had left – true to their gender had a certain difficulty forming words while ogling at any amount of bare female skin.

"Not yet," she said, "Travis and I took the Lieutenant and Commander to Sickbay, and Phlox is now working at trying to find something that will revert whatever process has caused them to become… well…"

"_Aged_," Malcolm finished for her, when she trailed. "It has four letters but it's not a foul word, as far as I remember."

Trip bared his no-longer pristine smile, but his eyes retained that teasing twinkle as he said, "Phlox told us we're close to eighty. I bet I'm older than you now, Subcommander."

T'Pol considered this for a moment. "It is unfortunate that with age you appear to have gained weight but not maturity, Commander." And her eyebrows did another meaningful lift.

Hoshi smiled to herself. And so, despite Trip's efforts, T'Pol's age was to remain a well-kept secret.

"I query your optimism regarding Doctor Phlox's ability to find a remedy," the Vulcan went on.

"Exactly." Malcolm leaned with one straight arm against the wall, while with the other he massaged his rump. "Daniels is our best bet."

"Time travellers have not impressed me for being a selfless team," T'Pol wondered aloud.

"Bloody hell, they have plenty of self-esteem, or they wouldn't be doing what they do."

Hoshi mouthed, "Bad hearing," to their perplexed SIC, who acknowledged the message and went on to say, "The most logical course of action would be to study the device in the Armoury; it is likely there is another button on it that will reverse the effects of the first one."

"Marvellous! Another press of the wrong button and we'll end up as mounds of ashes," Malcolm scoffed.

"Always the optimist," Trip sighed.

"We shall take precautions." T'Pol uncrossed her arms in a gesture of finality. "If you will excuse me, I'll get changed."

And her door swished closed.

TBC

Still like reviews very much! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for the nice reviews.

§ 5 §

So here they were, back in the Armoury.

"Hasn't the Doctor?..."

Hoshi watched Müller's face crumple, and she could only sympathise. The man followed with furrowed brows their Chief Engineer as he dragged himself tiredly to a torpedo casing and dropped to sit with a grunt, deflating like a punctured tyre.

"Don't be standing there doing nothing, Reginald!"

Malcolm, on the other hand, seemed to have revived the moment he had stepped inside his domain. His voice was thundering, if still a little scratchy.

"Surely you've got something better to do?" the department chief ranted.

"Yessir!"

Müller, who had taken a moment to realise _Reginald_ was actually himself, snapped to attention; then scuttled off to the furthest corner of the Armoury under the reprieving eyes of his direct superior.

"Youths," Malcolm muttered, shaking his head.

T'Pol regarded him in what, Hoshi thought, looked to be mild surprise. "You seem to have adopted the idea that you will endure your superannuation, Lieutenant," she commented.

Malcolm turned to Hoshi with a grimace that sent his wrinkles crushing on each other. "Can you translate that, Ensign?"

"Er – I think the Subcommander means to say that it sounds like you've given up hope of returning to your young self, Sir."

"Well, there are advantages to an advanced age, I've found," Malcolm declared.

"Like what?"

"Like feeling bloody well free to say whatever you think. Why not? You're near the end of the line and people consider you half batty anyway. It's brilliant." Malcolm studied T'Pol. "Subcommander, do you know that you have a marvellous bum, not to mention a great balcony?" he went on to exemplify.

T'Pol's eyebrows lifted. "Could you translate that, Ensign?"

Hoshi, who was choking on a fake bout of coughing, felt a blush rise. Heaven, this wasn't exactly the kind of _technical_ translation she was specialised in.

"I believe the Lieutenant means to say that – ahem – your _behind_ is quite shapely, and likewise your bosom."

T'Pol pursed her lips as she considered that. "Then the answer is yes, I am aware of it."

"Did you hear that, Commander?" Malcolm piped, searching around for his friend. "Trip?"

"What? Who?..."

Trip almost fell off the torpedo casing on which he'd been napping. He rubbed his eyes.

"Damn, but I'm done-in," he slurred. With an effort, he pushed to his feet. "I'd better get some sleep. See ya tomorrow."

"But Sir..." Hoshi started. She didn't need to finish. Trip took but a step before letting out an "Ow!" and ending up in Travis's arms, who had hurried to catch the hobbling man.

"What's wrong?" the Helmsman cried out.

Trip hissed in pain, gingerly taking another staggering step. "My toe. Hurts like hell! D'ya think it's gout?" he choked out.

Malcolm frowned. "Out? Where? What's out?"

"A likely possibility, Commander, given that you are a confirmed carnivore," T'Pol commented in her seraphic voice.

"But I'm thirty!" Trip screeched.

"Bloody hell, me too. Let's go for a drink."

"The Doctor said you are close to eighty," T'Pol corrected, her gaze bypassing Malcolm, who looked increasingly irked about being ignored. "Indeed we are here to see if we can do something about it."

Hoshi cleared her throat. "Right. Can we get down to it, then?" she urged. "Time is ticking by and we haven't accomplished anything yet."

They started towards the alien object.

"Why can't we go for a drink, I thought we were going for a drink," Malcolm ranted to Trip, who hobbled along with Travis bearing most of his weight.

The Engineer sighed. "Ya know, Malcolm, with age you've got awfully grumpy. First I want to see if I can get back to an age when drinkin' isn't gonna put a nail in my coffin."

"If you want to _see_ anything then put on glasses," Malcolm bit back.

"That just goes to prove my point. You've become a damn grouch."

"Lieutenant," T'Pol butted in loudly enough to get attention, "would you be able to set up a containment field around the object?"

They had got to destination and Malcolm shifted questioning eyes to her. "Why wouldn't I, all it takes is four EM emitters."

"Very well."

T'Pol looked about to say more, but her mouth closed and she took a moment to study their Armoury Officer. Hoshi followed her line of sight and cringed.

"Lieutenant, is there a reason why you are standing like that?" the Vulcan enquired, a frown flitting over her face.

Trip broke in a grin. "Not _again_," he teased.

Malcolm looked back defiantly. "I'll let you know, Subcommander, that sometimes after a certain age parts of your body get annoyingly dysfunctional – and by that I me---"

"I'm sure the Subcommander understands," Hoshi put in, before Malcolm's newly-found outspokenness could reach new heights.

T'Pol's eyebrows did their usual climb. "I apologise. Human physiology and its old age failures is not a discipline of study at the Vulcan Science Directorate." She latched her hands behind her back. "If you need to... relieve excessive pressure, Lieutenant, I will excuse you."

"How very thoughtful of you."

* * *

Müller had been working for the past few minutes under Malcolm's supervision, placing the four EM emitters that would form the force field cutting off the alien device from the rest of the Armoury.

One hand almost permanently glued to his lower back now, Malcolm waved the other one in a downward gesture. "A bit lower, Gerhard… There."

"It's Bernhard, Sir," Müller patiently repeated, a smile curling his lips, as he magnetised the last emitter to the movable panel. But his C.O. made no sign of having even heard him.

"Of course I can't guarantee that it will work, against that thing," Malcolm said.

Silence met his words. Five pairs of eyes converged on him.

"Well, don't look at me like that," Malcolm parried. "If I had developed a force field that remained stable under all circumstances I'd be the most famous man in Starfleet!" He blew out a breath. "Damnit, I was counting on it too. This aging thing has robbed me of a good few decades of work."

Trip groaned. "I can't believe it! Is that all you regret about it? Missed work? Not a thought to all the great things we'll never experience?"

"Like what, exactly?"

"I don't know, fallin' in love with the woman of your life, havin' a family, kids…"

"And growing old?"

"Ensigns Sato and Mayweather will remain outside the field", T'Pol once again interrupted. "And you too, Ensign Müller."

"Let's get this show under way, Reinhard," Malcolm ordered, as he joined Trip and T'Pol inside the area the field would circumscribe.

"All stand back," Müller warned.

With a loud buzzing sound, the force field was established. An invisible wall of energy now separated them.

T'Pol took out her scanner and raised it over the object.

"We've done that already, Subcommander," Trip informed her. "Although not with a Vulcan scanner." He peeked over her shoulder, squinting to try and make out the readings.

"Fascinating," the Vulcan commented. "Would you show me the button you had pressed, Commander?"

Trip made to reach for the device; but stopped and turned to Malcolm. "Now that I think of it, weren't you scanning the damn thing while I pressed the damn button that damned second time?"

"Damn right." Malcolm dug a hand in his pocket and retrieved his scanner.

A moment later they were comparing readings.

Trip pointed to something. "There was a surge of energy through this circuit."

"There seem to be two separate circuits," T'Pol noted. "It is possible the second one activates a rejuvenating cycle."

"For all we know it could turn us into frogs," Malcolm warned.

T'Pol's large eyes came up with a question mark. "Frogs?"

"Fairy tales," Trip explained. "Princes are often turned into frogs by witches or sorcerers."

"You aren't princes," T'Pol said.

Malcolm chuckled. "The Commander here wouldn't mind to be your Prince Charming."

"Malcolm!"

"What? It's the truth, I daresay. What are you waiting to tell her? Time is ticking by, if you haven't noticed."

Trip scrunched his eyes closed as a blush rose up his face.

"I am not accustomed to dating princes," T'Pol said, detachedly. "Or frogs." Lowering the scanner, she studied the device. "There ought to be a control for activating the second circuit. Logically, it ought to be opposite the first one."

"Very good. Indeed it is there," another voice said.

"Daniels!" Malcolm growled, turning to the ubiquitous man. "I knew you had something to do with all this!"

"I'll be damned if you weren't right." Trip blinked. "Is that true, Crewman?"

Daniels gave a slight bow. "Guilty as charged, Commander," he admitted. "Or should I say Admiral?"

Trip blinked some more. "Admiral?"

"Don't try and distract us, Crewman," Malcolm barked.

"Oops, it slipped out. I'm not supposed to reveal the future. Please forget it."

Trip looked back deadpan. "It won't be difficult, the way my neurons are failing."

"Would you mind telling us what your relation with this object is, Crewman?" T'Pol enquired, with a tilt of her head.

"I've been sent to retrieve it. It's an aging device – as you have undoubtedly figured out. A useful little thing for time travellers who might, on occasion, need to add a few years the better to mingle with the people they are studying."

"A _few_ years?" Trip and Malcolm screeched as one.

"Obviously you didn't read the instruction manual," Daniels chuckled. His joke fell very flat and he hurried to add, "I apologise, Commander, Lieutenant. The time traveller who so carelessly left it behind has already received a perpetual ban. Not something to be left in space, drifting."

"A bloody _face lifting_?" Malcolm exclaimed in outrage. "I do hope this little trinket of yours will accomplish more than that!"

Daniels visibly cringed against the onslaught of Malcolm's fury.

"Of course," he said with a tentative smile. "Please step this way."

§ _Epilogue_ §

"And so you were finally turned into your old selves," Hoshi concluded. "And let me tell you: I was glad it happened before my alarm clock went off. I wouldn't have wanted to wake up with the feeling that you were still two old men."

"Why don't I ever have such entertaining dreams?" Travis complained, though his eyes sparkled above a large grin.

Hoshi speared the last piece of pancake and put it happily into her mouth, savouring it – but even more the astonished faces of her breakfast companions.

"Hell of a dream," Trip muttered.

"Hm-hm," Hoshi mumbled around her morsel.

"Certainly a wild one," Malcolm agreed, looking rather self-conscious. "For one, I would never be so… _forthright_, especially with T'Pol."

"I sure hope not," Trip threatened. Something suddenly dawned on his face. "So… what time d'ya want me to come to the gym?" he asked the Armoury Officer. "Guess a bit of exercise wouldn't hurt."

"Eighteen-hundred-hours okay? No more than thirty minutes, I promise." Malcolm's brow creased pensively. "I suppose it's not good to exaggerate. Too much wear and tear, in the long run."

"Is Chef's new egg recipe any good?"

They all turned to see Archer approaching.

"As you were," Archer added, in his relaxed style of command. "I'm on my way to have my own breakfast with T'Pol, but when I saw you here I suddenly remembered a weird dream I had last night, where Trip and Malcolm got in all kinds of trouble."

Hoshi opened her eyes wide. "Really?"

Archer bit his lip. "Maybe for today you can be extra careful?" he asked of the two officers. He winced. "It's stupid, I know – _illogical_ – but… well, just to make sure."

"Us, get into trouble, Capt'n?" Trip said in outrage.

"That is unheard of," Malcolm backed him up.

Hoshi looked from one to the other. "Only in dreams, Sir," she concluded with a knowing smile.

THE END

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